


work/life (off) balance

by a_wonderingmind



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: (that word is everything that is bad about English spelling), Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, I genuinely don't how to tag this, Phryne giving Jack an aneurysm, Postnatal depression, slightly self indulgent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_wonderingmind/pseuds/a_wonderingmind
Summary: It looked simultaneously so naturally maternal and so very Phryne, that his brain short-circuited for a moment.Phryne turns up on the scene, almost giving Jack an aneurysm in the process.
Relationships: Hugh Collins/Dorothy "Dot" Williams, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 24
Kudos: 87





	work/life (off) balance

**Author's Note:**

> So uhhh... this sprang out of discussions about what we'd like to see in a hypothetical Miss Fisher Film 2 and Scruggzi floated the idea of "Phryne nearly giving Jack an aneurysm turning up at the murder scene with the Collins baby who she's agreed to watch for the morning."  
> which I kind of loved? so umm, this happened? it was supposed to be borderline crack, but it kinda took on a found family flavour, not that I regret it one bit.
> 
> this was done start to finish in 24 hours so excuse the rough edges! ~~also I just need to post it bc I feel they're all OOC and otherwise I'll chicken out~~
> 
> Enjoy!

Jack Robinson had, for most of his working life, prided himself on being someone who kept a clear delineation between home and work.

It had, perhaps, been a contributing factor to the breakdown of his marriage. Staunchly refusing to be one of those men, he had used the excuse of needing to get the work done to stay long past when Rosie would make dinner - the silence of the station preferable to the silence at home. 

Phryne had, as with many other of his carefully constructed walls, chipped away at that too; drinks and cases mixed freely, even from their earliest acquaintance. It had made the work that much more enjoyable, to be able to exchange theories and hash out details with someone who could, and wanted to, reason and debate. And after they had become partners in all senses of the word, more often than not it had become a topic at the dinner table. (Work talk stopped at the door to the boudoir, though, on that they were agreed.)

They had managed to keep it between them, though, and not dragged Jane into their sometimes heated debates, or - a particular achievement - keeping it distinctly off the cards when they had the Collinses for dinner. Especially as their oldest was now old enough to understand most of what was being said.

Not that it mattered now, because the line had just been well and truly obliterated. Phryne had just rounded the corner with a baby strapped to her chest.

Perhaps it was the utter incongruity of the image he was presented with; the still, sleeping lump sighing peacefully in contrast to the usual whirlwind force energy of his partner.

“Phryne?”

“Hallo Jack! The station called, said you wanted my help on a case?”

He blinked. He had asked Constable Jones to call, hadn't he.

He hadn't expected her to turn up with a whole other human in tow.

Spotting the body, she made a beeline to the victim, who was slumped up against the side of the house, maid’s cap sitting jauntily on her head, almost mocking the pallor in her face.

“No obvious cause of death,” she commented brightly.

He watched as she knelt beside the body, hand subconsciously coming up to support the child’s backside as she shifted, clearly less used to the extra weight on the front.

It looked simultaneously so naturally maternal and so very Phryne, that his brain short circuited for a moment.

She turned over the arm of the victim and grimaced. There were purple splotches that formed the vague outline of a handprint. She looked up at him grimly. 

“...Jack?”

“You brought a baby to the crime scene?”

“Yes, it’s Mr Butler’s day off today,” she said, as if that answered all his questions. It didn’t.

“Phryne,” he repeated, “why did you bring a baby to a crime scene?”

“Well there was no-one to look after her. Dot was asleep, and besides, she needs the rest. With only her in the house, that’s as good as leaving the baby unsupervised.” 

He stared at her blankly.

Mercifully though, Jack thought, newly-Sergeant Collins had not noticed Phryne had brought his daughter to a crime scene; he was busily taking statements from the rest of the servants.

“Jack,” she tutted fondly, “just because I don’t want any of my own, doesn’t mean I am incapable of caring for one,”

“Who tied the sling, then?”

“Mac. She was just on her way out when the station called,” she rolled her eyes.

Before he even had a chance to ask where the hell Mac had appeared from, Collins glanced over at them. Clearly finishing up with the last of the witnesses, he scribbled in his book and walked over, much less surprise in his face than he had expected.

Hugh looked at Phryne, and then at the bundle with a smile. “How is she?”

“Sleeping like an angel,” she said, as he reached out and stroked the smattering of fluff that was growing on his daughter’s head.

“And my other angel?”

“Also asleep.”

He sighed with relief. “Good. Did the talk with Mac help?”

“I think so. She is at least less ashamed of feeling like she has been, now, I feel.”

Hugh nodded solemnly.

“I assume she’s also told you about the return of the morning sickness,”

Phryne looked at him. “Yes, that did come up; in more ways than one.” she said darkly.

“Did she remember to bring the ginger tea?”

“Yes, she did,” she enunciated, probably a little stronger than she should have, and Collins winced.

“Dot’s got a backbone of steel, Hugh, we both know this. She’ll get through this.”

“I just wish I could do more. I hate seeing her like this.” He shot an almost nervous look at Jack before adding, twinkle in his eye, “it is partly my fault we’re here in the first place,”

Phryne smiled at him, eyes softening. “I think you’re more part of the solution than you realise; despite also being the source of the problem.”

“Thank you, Miss Fisher.” Collins looked at her gratefully and Jack felt suddenly like he was superfluous to proceedings - as well as a small prick of worry about Mrs Collins.

“Did you get anything from the servants, Collins?”

Seemingly unphased by the abrupt change in conversation, he turned to his boss.

“No, sir, not particularly, the butler found her as she is and went to inform the master of the house before telephoning the police, giving time for the gardener to also claim that he found her.” His mouth, a thin line, indicated what he thought of that.

“Actually, Miss Fisher, the scullery maid seems unwilling to talk to me at all. I think she might not talk to the Inspector, either.” He looked at her pointedly. “Perhaps she would be more, um, comfortable talking to a woman?” 

Jack regarded him with a discerning eye. He had come a long way from the meek and innocent constable he had once been.

Just then, the lump on Phryne’s chest started to squirm, blinking slowly as she realised there were other people there. She snuffled, blinked at Jack, and sneezed.

The adults all burst out laughing; confused at the sudden outburst of noise, she looked around and spotted her dad, prompting wild arm flailing and a happy stream of babble as Collins’ face morphed into a wide smile, a slightly breathless “hello darling!” escaping his mouth.

She reached for her father, and in doing so, bopped Phryne on the nose.

“Ow! Teaching her the noble art of pugilism already?”

“Oh, no, Miss,” he started, before noticing the twinkle in her eye, catching on and chuckling.

Another string of syllables erupted from Phryne’s chest and a dribble of spit rolled down her chin, which was promptly wiped off on Phryne’s blouse. Jack could see the disgust flash in her eyes, though it was gone again a moment later.

“Can I swap you your constabulary duty for your fatherly one, Hugh?” she said, already reaching for the ties at the back of the sling.

“Of course, Miss Fisher,” he replied, lifting her out of the wrap and setting her on his hip. Phryne looked distinctly relieved by proceedings, and swiftly made her way over to the maid, who was sitting on the steps with her head in her knees.

Jack watched her go, before turning to Collins, who was in turn completely focussed on his daughter, making encouraging noises and waving the tiny hand gripping onto his finger around.

“Is Dorothy alright, Collins?”

“Ah, sorry, sir, I thought you may have heard from Miss Fisher. Dot’s been, um, struggling with the children all on her own, sir. It’s why I’ve been asking for more time off.”

Jack looked at him, something not unlike fatherly pride settling in his own chest.

“Good man, Collins.”

“Ah, thank you, sir,”

They had all come a long way, Jack thought. Perhaps blurring the line between work and home ( _family_ ), just a little bit, wasn’t that bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Scruggzi again for letting me run with it!


End file.
